


I Wouldn't Be

by theunremarkable



Series: Kodaline [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 2010s, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Death, Heavy Angst, M/M, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theunremarkable/pseuds/theunremarkable
Summary: At 94, Bucky Barnes, a man who has lived more lifetimes than any other, finally knocks on Death’s door.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Kodaline [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815748
Comments: 50
Kudos: 169





	1. I Wouldn't Be

**Author's Note:**

> Each of the stories in The Kodaline Series will be accompanied by a little soundtrack by Kodaline that inspired the work, either by title, lyrics, feelings or otherwise.
> 
> [I Wouldn't Be, by Kodaline](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OUJb5HEWG_I&list=RDBs15zuU1diA&index=19)

In 1972, Peggy Carter asked Bucky Barnes to make a choice.

Truthfully, she'd been asking him for many years to make choices, such as would he like his hair long or short, did he want to go to the garden or the lake, would he prefer to sleep with or without a blanket? The idea of freedom, of choice and decision wasn't something that came easily for him, rather it came with the thought that the wrong answer would be followed by unimaginable pain, even though time and time again it did not. But it was Peggy, and apparently choice was a part of the beautiful idea of life, so he answered each time, thus, in turn, she kept asking. It didn't get easier, but he got better at hiding the clenching of his heart, the rolling of his stomach, the buzzing in his brain each time a question came. He was good, apparently he was meant to be the best at deception, but still, he had no doubt Peggy knew.

She knew him better than anyone.

So in 1972, Peggy Carter asked Bucky to make a choice; did he want to remember?

To remember who he was before he came into her care. The spirited Brooklyn boy who used to buy oranges from the corner market and jump into fights, not because he wanted to, but because he _had_ to. The charming soldier who served his country and saved lives, who was the catalyst for the end of the war, the reason that others were able to go home even when he could not. The brother, the son, the friend that his visitors mentioned, the person they wanted him to be when he wasn't, their recollections that he just smiled and nodded about.

Up until then, he remembered only what was told to him; words that he wrote in his journal that he later made his own movies in his head about. But he never really felt them, not the way he felt the recent movies about picking lavender with Peggy or sharing an apples with his sisters. There were a few, a few that left Bucky curled tight on the bed or dazed out for days each time his mind played them through, and the thought of those memories made him think that he didn't want to remember. Each time it happened he would rather rip his own chest open with bare hands to pull out the heart that was hurting so much.

But it also gave Peggy heart hurt, he knew, to be someone she didn't think he was or should be, and though she visited every day, for some reason she didn't think that she was doing enough for him. She'd found someone else, to visit every day, who could help him. Someone she trusted.

Bucky didn't trust them. He trusted no one but Peggy, because even though she made him feel bad everyday with all her questions, she also made him feel warm and safe, and at times, loved.

Peggy never told him, but he knew her as well as she knew him, which is how he understood that she wanted him to remember all that he once was. 

So Bucky made the choice to say yes.

There was an infinitesimal part of him that wanted to remember, but only to know of one thing; Steve. Steve Rogers, to remember him the way Peggy did, not just as she told him. Mostly so that he could tell her that she was wrong, that no one could be like sunshine, could make the whole world center around them, could right every wrong.

No one except Peggy, of course. 

With that infinitesimal part came an even smaller thought, that through all the heart hurt, in the movie moments about Steve there was almost warmth to them. Those were the worst, and the best glimpses of what he was told was his old life. Those memories of dancing nights and blue tights and a living space just barely larger than what he was in now both temporarily filled a space in his heart that he didn't know existed, and made it bigger in a way he knew was unfillable. 

So Bucky had said yes, and complied, locking his muscles tight so that he wouldn't accidently hurt this doctor in his primal fear, followed every order no matter how insignificant, even though Peggy assured him it was okay to not be okay. He could ask them to stop.

He didn't.

And then he remembered.

Slowly, at first, then all at once, crippling him for months as his broken brain tried to sort through the mess of images that fired simultaneously. They came randomly and without timeline; it took Bucky even longer to create one, with his sisters' help, and Peggy's. He gets thrown, even now, when a new memory appears and he has no landmark for it.

He remembered everything Peggy wanted him to, but also everything she didn't.

Which is how Bucky knows, 39 years later, that he's failed.

Because he remembers what its like to be paralysed, limbs locked and trapped in his own brain, knows to expect the hissing of gas chambers that will crystalise him from the inside out until every part of him is a shard slicing into each other, knows that when he wakes there will be endless electricity in his brain and only murder in his mind. That, he knows, he remembers, and he feels it now.

He also remembered something else, something that Peggy never wanted for him.

He remembered Steve dying.

Not just the moment they told him, strapped down to a table with an arm and a heart missing, but he remembers dying like it was him in the plane. It was cold, but not the instant dry that froze Bucky, it was slow, this infinite winter of the Arctic waters that buried Steve. Slow cold and wet, the water that washed his life away, and wet again with the tears Bucky couldn’t stop for years, years and years and years until there was nothing left, he was as dried as the dessert, coarse and weathered, and older than the Earth itself.

It's wet now.

And cold.

And Steve is here.

It is wet and cold, so Steve must be dying. 

Bucky can’t touch him, can’t reach out to grasp him, like the train, so close, _so so close_ , but unable to shorten that small distance that makes all the difference. He's so close, but it may as well be the thousands of miles between Russia and the Arctic. 

Only Steve seems to be able to, he's still moving, arms reaching. He wasn’t moving when they found him only a month ago, he didn’t move for so long after, long enough to age Bucky another two, three, seven or more lifetimes in that week. But he's moving now and he's so near, his warm, strong hands on Bucky. Steve has the best hands, and not just for drawing. For holding Bucky like this.

No, Steve isn't dying, he's _crying_.

Steve is crying, and Bucky would give anything, anything to make it stop.

Would give his own life, would go back to Hydra, suffer, over and over, all eternity, if it meant Steve would stop the sadness. Steve is _good_ , and good is happy, and happy should not cry.

Bucky would die to stop the tears.

“No, no, no, Bucky, please, _please,_ ” Bucky can hear in the voice he’d never thought he’d hear again, let alone be blessed to spend three whole weeks with.

He can see a figure fall in the distance, the figure is him, a weapon, hurting them all, Natasha, Steve, Tony, Clint, all pain from him. Like he always does, but it's not him, there is no shine of metal, no semblance of a soul in the eyes, but it is him, and he is dead.

And Steve is not.

And Bucky finally understands. Steve is not dying, Steve is not dead.

The wet is blood.

And it’s not Steve's. It's Bucky’s.

It’s wet and cold and Bucky is dying.

How curious it is, that he was right. His only purpose, the reason he dragged his feet this far for this long, the reason he endured, was to find Steve, keep him safe.

And it is done.

It’s a good thing. This is okay, Bucky’s blood, his life, not Steve’s.

He's always been prepared to die for Steve, even when he didn't know what it meant, just 13 years old. He'd never thought about it for anyone else, but then again, he'd never looked, _really_ looked, at anyone else the way he had Steve. Because they weren't Steve.

Now it is Steve, and it's okay. 

But no - this is bad. This is not okay. Where Bucky goes, Steve has shown to follow.

“Tony, can you-, I-”

“Fuck, I-,”

“No, no, no, Bucky, c’mon, you’re okay. You’re okay, you hear me?” 

Bucky does hear Steve. The words, the distressed sounds should make him panic, but they do nothing but calm him, soothing, almost lulling him to what he thinks will be an endless sleep. Bucky never wants them to stop, and he figures at the end, he is allowed to want. _Of course he is allowed to want_ , a voice chides him. _He has wanted before, and nothing bad ever came from that_ ,it tells him. He wanted to love Steve as just a boy, wanted Steve to survive the night of sickness and then the next, wanted to die when he heard Steve was dead, quickly overrun by his want Steve for come back and be alive.

Then, they took his want away, and he hasn't wanted since.

But now, now, at the very end, Bucky is allowed to want. What he wants, he receives, and the words wash over him, flushing the blood away, along with his life. It doesn’t wash clear, but it’s true, it’s relaxing, like his baths, only with the smell of iron, not lavender. Iron, and the faint scent of Steve. It’s the greatest gift this life could give him, so he continues wanting.

Bucky should have wanted earlier.

The voice smacks him on the upside of the head and shakes it's own, and that's when he knows with certainty that it's Peggy's voice.

 _Peggy_ , that thought hurts. Hurts more than his chest, his stomach, his neck faintly throbbing through the tranquility. So Bucky wants for another thing. It’s more than a want, he hopes, prays for the first time in a long time to a God who will never listen, not to someone like him, that all her memory of him will be taken from her. Much like his own retention sometimes, it would be a kindness to Peggy if she were to forget all about him. He could never again cause her the heart hurt he has for the past 43 years.

Steve won’t have the same peace, because Bucky knows that the desperate noises clawing from Steve’s throat means he’s not as content as Bucky is right now. Bucky pushes down his want, because Steve is worth it, and tries to drown out the sounds with an offering of his own words.

“You’ll be okay, Stevie, you’ll be okay. You were always the better of us two. You’ll be okay, you’ll find love, love like Pegs, the only one worthy of what your heart can give. You’ll grow old, and enjoy it. You won’t waste it, not like me. You’re better than me, you’ll do more.

Only maybe I didn’t waste it, did I? Can’t waste a life, your Ma said, not when it’s loving someone, no matter where they are. She knew, she knew all along, I reckon. And I think, maybe, I did enough. Just enough, to keep you alive, this time, settle you in some, set you up to like it. Everything I have is yours, but you already know that, and even if you don’t, Tony will take care of you, like he did me. He promised, so did Tasha. Even S.H.I.E.L.D is gonna look out for you. 

And you? Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare even think about it. You’ve always liked to do whatever I said not to, but please just do this one thing for me. I’m done, and I’m okay with it. I’m done, but you’re not. You’re only just beginning. Your life Steve, is beautiful, and this world hasn't had the chance to experience it yet. Please live.”

He says it all, in what comes out as a small gurgle.

Steve doesn’t understand. His mouth settles downturned, his brows furrowed. Petulance, Bucky thinks, doesn’t suit him, his kind soul and kind face. Nor does confusion, when Bucky had thought his speech was quite comprehensive. Eloquent, even, as good as he’d ever been. 

Maybe Steve's hearing has gone again. 

Well, that’s frustrating.

Bucky tries to look around, for Clint or Tasha or Tony; they won’t understand, but they know what to do at least, they’ll know what to tell Steve, how to make him okay. They're not there, only Steve.

Steve, who’s now looking so scared, so sad, looks every terrible emotion Bucky’s ever known him to have in his whole life, and Bucky doesn’t want that. He wants the only good. Why doesn’t Steve know he needs to be happy?

He sighs, just a small breath, and says it all again in that one exhale, hoping that Steve understands better this time. It takes all that he has left to do so, sapping even the energy it takes to keep his eyes open.

It doesn’t matter that his eyes drift shut when the image of Steve is imprinted on the back of his lids. It’s a sunlight for him to bask in as the sound he desires, the song, the lullaby, the litany of Steve, continues to flow over him. Bucky thinks he should feel warm, from the sight and sound of Steve, or maybe he should feel cold from the blood pooling around him and the hysteria behind the tones of Steve’s words.

But he isn’t cold. He isn’t warm. He just is.


	2. Who I Am

But not for much longer.


	3. Without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TW for a comment about suicide towards the end*

It’s dark, but only for the briefest of moments.

Bucky opens his eyes incrementally to a light and soft glow that's all around, even more soothing than the symphony that was Steve. He wonders if it's perhaps emanating from himself in the first place, from the place where his heart once was; before it broke so completely on a cool table from just a few faded words on a newspaper clipping and never quite melded back together. Maybe it only ever healed enough, even with the serum, to simply pump blood around his body. It certainly felt like that, even with all the good he knows he should be grateful for.

With the calm comes the overwhelming sense that for the first time in a long time, he’s not alone in all of this. Life, or wherever he’s now found himself. There’s no one Bucky could want, no one, but when he picks himself up, the throbbing in his chest, neck and stomach replaced by the glow, and the wet nowhere to be found, he looks up to see the only people he could ever dare to want.

He begins to regret not wanting earlier, but, although he knows it should, the remorse doesn’t weigh on him, doesn’t press down on his finally free heart. He’s not sure if it’s where he is, he now thinks is surely the land of Death, or at the sight before him.

Gracie.

Gracie, and Evie, his darling little girls, his sisters, that Bucky had no tears left for when they died, no tears, no nothing, other than the complete numbness he always felt. A numb that was pain, but pain that was numb because it was pain for so long. They do not have tears either, nothing to distract from how whole, how beautiful they are, how free of the cancer and stroke that took them. Evie’s hands are small as they slot into his, young face smiling up at him wider than he’s ever seen. Bucky can’t feel the the skin on his own, the hands in his, but he knows that they’re there, with the the same ghost trace when Gracie’s hands touch his cheek and wipe where tears should be but are not.

She is, he supposes, a ghost, here.

But Evie has something to show him, he knows this, can feel the tug on his hand. It’s not a force from her, it’s more of a pull at his core, just below his heart, compelling him to whatever is next, so he follows. It doesn’t hurt to walk, his muscles are no longer weary, there's no weight on broken bones or tired feet. It doesn’t hurt to exist in the way the past 66 years has, because, he understands, he is not existing, not in the sense he once knew.

He is drawn, from the darkness he came from just before, slowly fading, slowly and then suddenly all at once, it’s too bright. For a moment he is scared, it must be Steve, because only he can shine like that, and Steve should not be here.

But it’s not Steve, just a small house, a cottage.

No, a home.

Bucky wants to be confused, to frown, but as quickly as the scared of waking did, as quickly as any emotion he feels in this place have so far, it vanishes as quickly as it appears. He simply accepts that he knows this house, from a memory, from 80 years ago. It was no more than a picture in a worn and secondhand school book, then later a drawing from an artist just learning his talent. It was nothing incredible, but Bucky latched onto it regardless and let himself wonder on a small bed as the pencil beside him scratched on, about something that wasn’t allowed, something that he just didn't want, but he _needed_. He needed to share it, his whole life with Steve, in this little house made of raw wood and a cobblestone chimney. It wasn't very large, enough for one central room that held the fireplace, and the bed, and the kitchen and a table for the food, but that was alright because Bucky knew even that young that Steve wouldn't grow much, and Bucky would stay lean from eating off the land. He would learn to shoot a gun like his father did in Africa, probably become a good enough shot to take down a moving deer and maybe even some birds, and even if he caught enough he'd give most of it to Steve anyway because he'd gone hungry more times than Bucky. Root vegetables would be easy enough to grow and Steve was Irish enough that he wouldn't shy away from potatoes all the time, and they could do most of their washing in a stream or a river that was bound to be nearby in the woods. He'd never quite worked out what to do in the cold, Bucky would chop enough wood that the fireplace would always be going, maybe they'd need a tub, or Bucky could build a small bathing room with a clawfoot that they could light a fire underneath. Or, if he was clever enough, Bucky could source out those natural hot springs he'd learnt about in Science, where the water stays warm geothermically, no matter if it's even snowing all around it, and build the house near there, exactly like the one in the book. Exactly like the one in Steve's sketch, which still looked like the firelight was illuminating the windows and under the door onto the tiny porch, though Steve's was in black and white. He'd added more trees to his, and a row of flowers leading up, and it looked so hidden from the world, that Bucky thought that perhaps no one would ever find them there, with no one but nature to care what they did was wrong.

Bucky had thought about building this house from the moment he'd first laid eyes on it, and then again ever since his mind became somewhat his own. Bucky doesn't know how he knew, maybe he didn't, but Tony had offered him land in almost a perfect spot. He took it wordlessly, but could never use it as intended. Even the thought that hurt as much as death itself, of building their home together but living without who it was meant for. It would have been a home for ghosts, and memories, and being half, much less than half, less than human, Bucky was not strong enough to endure either of those.

But, now, here, Bucky may only be alone for a small eternity, so maybe he could face living in it while he waits for Steve. And there’s no pain here it seems, so perhaps it would be bearable.

The path towards his home, his final home, his true home, is lined with his purple and blue flowers, Peggy's flowers that Steve inadvertently drew 80 years ago, and they don’t smell, there is no smell, but Bucky is still calm.

Figures appear as he begins his journey. Gracie and Evie have taken their place at the start of the winding walkway, just near the flowers he loves so dear, looking as calm and happy as he's ever known. The next is Jim, healthy, standing, _standing_ , Bucky realises, when he hadn’t had the strength or ability for decades. Jim, he wants to run to, to grab is hand, but Jim shakes his head with a smile, only slightly, and Bucky knows there will be time later for Jim. There’s no pain, but Bucky recognises just how much he’s missed him. Through all the years, Jim had understood, and had let Bucky come to him, not the other way around. So Bucky had not gone as much as he should have, as much as he now wants, because he had never wanted to. Now he does want, and he can, possibly forever.

The next is Dernier. Bucky's heart would ache at the sight of him if it could, because he had only seen him twice in his life after the Commandos. The first was when he was not Bucky, he was not James, he was _No One_. At the time he was unaware of the interaction, but he's been cursed with remembering since then. The second time was no better, Bucky was too lost, too sad, to want to look at what was against what is, and perhaps what could be. And Dernier, with his French way of life, his ability to love and his desire for freedom, had _told_ him, had put words out in the air that could never be caught, that Bucky was forgiven for the things he shouldn't have ever been forgiven for. Bucky knows it wasn't pity, but Dernier seemed to radiate more than any others his desire for Bucky's mind to be well, for him to live a rich life, but it was too much for his fragile and healing body, so Bucky had shut Dernier from his life for good. He still felt pride for the good times they had, the good they did, the world they helped shape for Dernier’s children, and grandchildren, but it was just something he couldn't share with him. Here, Bucky understands, it's okay to be forgiven, and when he smiles, Dernier smiles back.

Dum Dum is next, his red hair long grey, and if there was any sound in this world, Bucky knows it would be filled with Dum Dum’s laugh. A laugh at how puzzled Bucky must look, or how calm, or just laughing because that’s all Dum Dum did and the world was right because of it. It’s not that he had favourites of the Commandos, but Dum Dum was a different sort; there were parts about him that only Dum Dum knew. Not even Steve, nor Peggy or Becca or Natasha. Because Dum Dum was there, from Bucky's very first night in the 107th, tented together, and close beside him for heat in the trenches waiting in Azzano, to the actual battle against the Wehrmacht, and then in Krausberg. Then, it seemed to be on Dum Dum's guard that Bucky woke most from nightmares then shared the most silent cigarettes with until Bucky wordlessly took over whoever's shift was next whilst following whatever Steve's latest crazy plan was. And after, it was Dum Dum who was there all throughout _No One_ , the weird time between until he was James, then Bucky, and even after. It was almost like a big brother, a father and a best friend all rolled into one; not enough to replace the missing part that was Steve, but enough to calm him when Peggy wasn’t around. Dum Dum could even sometimes make him laugh, and Bucky hopes he has the ability to laugh here.

Beside Dum Dum, is Gabe. Gabe, who told him of what happened after the train once Bucky was well enough to hear it. Gabe, who he would forever be indebted to for pulling Steve back from the broken train when he'd clung to near death for almost 40 miles, for not letting Steve follow into the same fate as Bucky. Gabe, who felt the full force of Bucky’s fury for saving Steve once but not being anywhere near close to saving him again from the plane. Gabe, who Bucky eventually apologised to but never truly forgave for whatever reason he couldn't let go of, both of their only saving grace to the friendship was that at least Gabe had ensure Steve’s end was cold and complete, and if he had of followed Bucky, Hydra may have found him, hurt him-

No, there is no place for those thoughts here. 

Bucky smiles at Gabe in a way he hadn’t been able to the rest of his years that he was alive, and Gabe smiles back. They could be in a bar in England, for what this feels like. There is an inebriation to the world he's in, Bucky doesn't think it's been long, but he's becoming addicted to it.

Even when he sees Monty. Monty, dear Monty, who he’d only seen a few more times than Dernier. He'd had plenty of opportunity to, for Monty stayed with S.H.I.E.L.D in the years afterwards though in England, but just as Monty's heart rivalled Steve's, so to did his selflessness. He'd had taken up a sort of mantle like Steve, for England, and it was too much for Bucky, the blue of the uniform the same, a Union Jack where the star should be, a symbol of a man who would only, undoubtedly, be lost in the line of duty. It wasn’t something Bucky could stand to do again. But on Bucky's path, he lets himself feel elated for the times they shared and of what Monty had become, though he always was. Now, the pain of good that was sometimes more unbearable than the pain of bad, is no more. 

His mother and father, hands held, but reaching out for him, not touching, when he passes, in a silent acceptance. Acceptance that, 68 years later, their son had finally come home. Bucky had never blamed either of them for their reaction to him, for he'd only caused it himself and accepted that it was for the best, that he couldn't hurt them if they didn't love him anymore. As he passes, he thinks he might have gotten it wrong, that he hurt them so _because_ they loved him unconditionally, and always did, but, like everything else, it's okay. 

The next is both the hardest, and easiest, to face, much like loving Steve is. His mother stands, healthy and beautiful, and Bucky stops before Sarah Rogers, not speaking, just looking. It's been so long, and he thinks Steve might feel all the years Bucky lived when he thinks of his mother, and wishes there was some way Bucky could tell him, could let Steve know that she's here, and well, and shining as much as Steve ever did. Bucky looks as much as he can, like she'll disappear in an instance the way she seemed to in 1939, and when he gets to her eyes, he sees the thank you. The _'Thank you for loving my son when I was not there to do so,'_. His own eyes say back, _'Thank you, for letting him exist.'_

There is a final spot, at the end, and for a moment a still fear strikes like lightning into the peaceful land and Bucky is scared again, thinking of who could fill that spot. Sam was safe away, Peggy too, but Tony, Tasha, Clint, even Steve, they all were so close to Bucky, anything could be happening, anything could have happened, anything he’s not there to stop it. 

Again, there’s no place for those feelings here.

A spot, his whole family tell him with their eyes, that he will stand at, waiting, for Steve, in another hundred years, or more, when he is ready to join them and also has to walk this path. Where Bucky can stand, and wait for Steve to cross the threshold, and then follow into their shared home. 

In this moment, unlike the rest of his life, Bucky feels like the richest man in the world, spoilt at the end of a life he did nothing to deserve them from, a life that he didn’t let himself live.

There are only a few more steps, up onto the small patio, then a few more to the door, which is not ajar, but not closed. Like everything else here, it simply is, and Bucky knows this is where the pull is emanating from. It’s an odd sort of pull, not like Steve’s, which is more like Steve is the center of gravity and Bucky is spinning around him, unable to draw away, unwilling to draw away lest he fling off into a dark abyss of infinite universe and be lost worse than he has been his entire life so far without Steve.

No this is, inviting. Welcoming. Welcoming him home.

He takes a deep breath, or he tries, there is no air here.

Still, he’s nothing but stubborn in this strange place, and if there’s a piece of Steve he can take with him, it would undoubtedly be the frustrating tenacity that grew with age and quadrupled like everything else with the serum.

So Bucky takes a deep breath, deep enough to fill the empty cavity that is his chest. The air, or whatever is the sweetness that enters, replaces the blood that should be pumping through him, flooding his heart which no longer grieves and his lungs which no longer work. It crowds his chest, fills his fingers, drowns his mind in the best way, so much that he is dizzy from it, floating, intoxicated.

Bucky would have killed himself long ago if he knew how euphoric he would feel in this moment.

But _Steve-_.

No.

He is at peace with that.

Bucky takes a deep breath, his final he knows for sure, and drawing courage he knows he's stolen from Steve, knocks on Death’s door.


	4. I Wouldn't Be

But Death does not answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By now, you should know that’s **who _I_ am.**
> 
> But I’ll only torture you so much, next work is already up. If we threw around train phrases carelessly in this fandom, I'd say there's a light at the end of the tunnel in that fic. At some point.


End file.
